Chris Dies Again (and again and again and)
by DSLeo
Summary: A few more deaths for Chris Hayden, and a shout-out to Brittaden for inspiring me to write these. Cheers, enjoy, and naturally it's AU. (Also, a touch grim.)


Chris Dies Again (and again and again…)

Disclaimer: Not mine or that guy would've never shown up. Duh.

Summary: A few deaths for Chris, rather more grim. No episode tags. Obviously AU.

Genre: Humor/Horror

AN: I am having a tough time in real life. Time to take it out on Christopher Hayden.

Shout-out to Brittaden for helping to inspire the creative juices on this fic.

GG GG GG

 **The CrapShack's Revenge**

It was the shortest visit in Christopher's long history of short visits made on no notice despite big promises.

He parked his motorcycle, bounded up the steps onto the porch, then decided to look as cool as possible. This required leaning against the porch railing, legs stretched out, in his best I-wish-I-was-James-Dean-in-the-iconic-poster pose.

To get attention from the Gilmores inside the aptly named Crap Shack, he made a point of thumping his heels on the boards of the porch and sunk into the too-cool-for-school slouch against the porch upright, one leg bent and perched on the railing. All he needed was a completely different face, a cigarette, and actual coolness, and he had that James Dean thing nailed.

The problem was, the Crap Shack didn't like this abuse. In fact, the Crap Shack disliked it quite a lot. It didn't mind pitter-pattering Gilmore heels or slow and steady Danes work boots, but something about the Hayden feet irked the house. It was a happy house, as a rule, but now it emitted a warning groan.

Christopher Hayden shifted position a little. He wanted to make sure the sunlight hit to his best advantage, namely by glinting off his over-whitened teeth.

At which point the Crap Shack porch gave way to age, wear, patchwork repairs, and something like structural malice.

The railing buckled under Chris as the upright snapped in two behind his back.

Chris fell straight down.

The porch roof followed.

The _boom_ was, for such a decrepit structure, downright majestic.

On hearing the news, Luke felt a moment's pang for the Gilmores and their house alike. Then, considering the fact he'd never even met Christopher in all the years he'd known the Gilmores, nor had anyone in town said anything nice about the man... No, Luke decided. It wasn't so much a pang as a _ping_. Rather like the sound of a long-rusted nail snapping under the weight of a deadbeat, perhaps. Although Luke knew quite well there were no rusted nails in the Crap Shack's porch. He'd seen to that.

On the other hand, Lorelai would need a new porch. Built properly from scratch. A good project for him, and good for the house, and maybe, just maybe, good for other things as well.

GG GG GG

 **A Supernatural Save**

"Seriously, this is creeping me out, these girls are Stepford powder puffs," muttered a handsome, intense young man dressed in a valet's uniform.

"You?" grunted the handsome young man in the gloves and tuxedo. "People keep calling me _Dean_. That's your name!"

"That's why we picked it, you'd remember it, it was your idea, remember? Just take it easy, little brother," cautioned Valet Dean. "Took us a month to have you embedded with the Foresters, and six months to get this from Chicago to Connecticut. We can't blow it now. The old man's counting on us."

"I know, I know, but it's weird. Wrong name, wrong school, and a kid sister?" replied Tuxedo Dean. "Just don't scratch the car, okay? I don't wanna die by Forester father."

"Hey, they're cool, it's cool, we're cool," mumbled Valet Dean, taking the keys. "At least you get a girlfriend out of this. I'm stuck playing homeless creep in the alley."

"I _told_ you the diner guy didn't do a Faustian deal! He just makes good coffee!"

"Okay, I was wrong, ya happy? Get in there and get ready. I'll hide out in the men's room, main floor, got it?"

"Got it."

They bumped fists.

Dean Forester went inside.

The target's ex-girlfriend was glad to see him. So was her daughter, who was, he admitted, a pretty sweet bonus to this whole hunting gig. His first time out, he worked not only with a retired hunter, but for once, he got the girl. That was usually his older brother's privilege. Rory, however, was kind, funny, smart, and freaking _gorgeous_.

She asked him how she looked.

He blurted something about cotton balls. He cringed. If his brother heard _that_ , there'd be no end to the mockery.

He managed to keep his cool until Rory was safely down the stairs, and they'd done their dance. Then, claiming a "guy problem" with his tuxedo, he asked Rory's father to give him a hand. Lorelai Gilmore offered, but Dean hastily backed away from her, and the target laughed. "I got it, Lor, he's dating my daughter, after all."

That was one of the more inane things he'd heard said all night, which was quite a trick, considering the circumstances.

Safely in the men's room, Dean Forester locked the door.

His brother ghosted out of a stall, back in jeans and a dark jacket. "Hey."

"Hey?" said Christopher uncertainly.

"You're Chris Hayden, son of Francine and Straub, right?"

"Uh, what is this? Dean?"

Both young men answered, "Yeah?"

"What the hell?"

"Our point exactly," said the older one. "Long story short, you're the only son?"

"Yes, only child, what is this about?"

Silly white gloves notwithstanding, it was easy for Dean Forester to restrain the man by his wrists. "You know your father wants to live forever."

"Should I break out in a Queen song, or are you going to..."

The sight of a knife with a very intricate handle silenced Chris.

"Look, this isn't personal. It literally is business."

"Family business," sighed Dean Forester.

"Later, Sam. Sorry, I mean, Dean, ah crap." The older of the two young men shook his head. "Man, I knew I'd do that. Stupid! Okay. Gotta ask, do you renounce Satan and all his ways, forsake all deals and covenants made with Lucifer and the powers of Hell?"

"Are you insane?"

"It's yes or no. So answer yes or no!" snapped Dean Forester. "Stop wiggling. I rented this outfit."

Chris groaned. "Lor and her pranks. Fine, I forsake and renounce Satan, Lucifer, evil, and the powers of Hell."

The faux valet said sagely, "Good, good. Sorry that won't save your body, but at least your soul gets a fair shot. Good luck with that."

"Wait, what?" blurted Chris, and then the knife slipped in at his belly button.

There was a terrible bright light, a squeal of dismay, and then...

No more Chris. Not even a glint of a glimmer of a smile remained.

"Bobby's waiting, we'll break the blade and release the soul," said the older boy. "But we need to stick around town a while. Guy like Straub Hayden'll pick someone else to do the soul switcheroo with." A smirk crossed his face. "Can you handle dating his granddaughter a while longer?"

Dean Forester snorted. "You kidding?" He flipped his hair off his face. "Rory's great. Weird, but great. So this is how many times that guy's tried it?"

"Bobby said fifth."

"No wonder he sounds like such a mean son of a..."

A knock came at the men's room door.

The older boy tucked away the blade after wrapping it in white silk. Dean Forester opened the door. "Uh, sorry, I didn't know I'd locked it, I, uh, get, uh, shy. Um. Bye!"

Hidden in a stall again, his brother winced. They had to work on those improvisation skills. Big time.

Later, at the Forester home, the two of them sat with a grizzled older man, and Mr. Forester.

"How'd it go?" asked Dean Forester.

"No hitches," growled the one named Bobby. "Hate doing that. He wasn't an innocent, with the demon-bond in him, but still. Hate doing that."

"Yeah, but it was erase the heir, or Straub Hayden possesses him, and the demon gets another thirty-forty years with all that money and established influence," countered Mr. Forester. "Your father'd be proud of you. Both of you. What next for you, Dean?"

"Which one?" grinned Dean Forester.

"Winchester," grumbled Bobby. "Smart-a..."

The older of the two interrupted with a snort, "I'm gonna lurk around Hartford a while. Make sure we haven't missed any male heirs to the line and hope Straub doesn't get over his woman-hating enough to jump to a female body."

"He hurts Rory, he's facing me."

"Cool your jets, Romeo," said the erstwhile valet. "I'll call every couple days. But how're we gonna deal with the missing person report on this?"

"I don't think there'll be one," said Dean Forester. "This is the first time Rory's seen him in ages, same with her mom, he's not much on calling, either. I get the feeling it'll probably take six months for anyone to miss him. He does have a girlfriend in Boston, though."

"I can handle that," said Bobby gruffly. "I got a friend up there." He raised his beer. "Another clean hunt."

The four clinked bottles. "Another clean hunt."

"Still freaks me out being called Dean," mumbled Dean Forester as he flopped onto the bed for the night.

A bundle of blankets on the floor answered, "What's wrong, Sammy, big brother's name too awesome to handle?"

"Shut up."

His brother chuckled, rolled over, and slept.

Elsewhere in Stars Hollow, two Gilmores ate ice cream, unaware that there was absolutely no chance Christopher could ever disappoint them again.

GG GG GG

 **Shred, Baby, Shred**

A married man with a newborn was, generally speaking, a happy man. In need of sleep, smelling faintly of baby poo and his own underarms, but happy.

None of the men in the yard of the rental cottage were happy men. In fact, three of them were throwing up in the bushes, a fourth was flat on his back on a gurney in an ambulance, and two more were vertical but pale, their faces pointed at anything other than what they'd been called to see.

It was a bad day to be a police officer in Connecticut.

Seated in the back of an ambulance, rocking said newborn, sat impeccably groomed Sherry Hayden. Daughter Georgia rested comfortably in her mother's carefully shackled arms.

A man in a suit, with a badge showing on a chain around his neck, wandered into view. "So what happ… Oh holy…"

He joined those who looked anywhere but _there_. Shuddering, he advised them, "When you say you have a _body_ , I expect to see a _body_. That's not a body!"

"It was," said the younger of the two standing state police officers. "Then she found the chipper-shredder."

The newcomer choked. "What. How. Do we have a… Someone tell me what happened here."

The older of the two state police officers currently vertical whipped out a small notebook. "Deceased is claimed to be Christopher Hayden, husband of the, uh, her, there, in the ambulance, father of the child Georgia…"

"Well, at least he didn't name her Alabama," muttered the suited man. "And?" He glanced sidelong at Sherry, humming happily with a vacant-eyed smile on her face.

"This was supposed to be a little getaway, her words, not mine, give them time to bond with the baby, she read it in a magazine about women executioners…"

"Executives," snapped the younger one under his breath.

"She reports a verbal altercation over her bringing her fax and laptop, and his not finding a place with internet, and the baby woke up."

The suited man waited. Not looking in a certain direction, lest he add to the long list of nightmares he already had.

"And she dragged him outside to yell at him outside, and, uh, well, someone from the grounds crew left the chipper-shredder, and, uh, well, we _think_ he was dead when he went in."

The man in the suit risked a look. He _hoped_ the man was dead when he went in. He'd seen something like this in a movie, and the movie didn't do it justice. Perhaps because, in this case, the victim's legs went in first, and what appeared to jam the industrial mulch-maker was not a femur or a humerus, but a sternum. Eyes popped wide in terminal surprise, the victim stared out of the intake chute as if about to speak.

Re-swallowing everything he had eaten that day, the suited man walked to the handcuffed suspect.

As he neared, he heard her coo to her tiny daughter, "We need one of those in the office, don't we, baby? Yes, we do! Oh yes, we do! Think of the time we'd save! Would you like that, baby? Do you want to help Mommy shred things? We can shred silly Billy in Accounting, how about that?"

GG GG GG

 **Town Spirit**

"Why meeeee?" whined Kirk Gleason, yawning as he stumbled behind Taylor Doose into the town square of their beloved Stars Hollow.

"For the last time, Kirk," sighed Taylor primly, "it's for the good of the town, and unfortunately, the covenant was made by the founding families of the town, of whom there are only three male heirs remaining, and quite frankly, what happens when we three die, I do not care to speculate!"

Kirk waited for something that made sense.

Taylor gulped in air. He seemed to be counting, or perhaps praying, but whatever he was doing, it involved a need for patience. "The Doose, Danes and Gleason families are all that remain of the original founders."

Kirk nodded solemnly.

"Luke would sooner cut off my head than do me a favor."

Kirk nodded again.

"I hope you and Luke have sons, I shudder to think…"

"When you say you hope _Luke and I_ have _sons_ , do you mean…" began Kirk.

Cringing visibly, Taylor growled, "No, Kirk, I meant… Oh never mind, just go marry someone and have sons, would you? Too much to hope now that Luke will, I'm fairly certain my attorney has no intention of having children, and their marriage definitely wasn't in the plan."

"There's a plan?"

"There should be!" Taylor gestured energetically enough that his coat made a mysterious _clank_. "Why he couldn't get off his… Well, ask out Lorelai, we _know_ she likes children… Oh, that man has no consideration for this town's well-being!"

The two men arrived at the town's prized gazebo. They found a third, arms crossed, stance set, and baseball cap for once not in evidence.

"Oh dear," said Taylor.

"Hi, Luke," whimpered Kirk, shrinking behind Taylor.

"Ah, lovely night for a, uh, moonlit stroll, isn't it?" gabbled Taylor, shifting nervously from one foot to another, then standing very, very still.

"New moon. No moonlight." Luke jabbed a thumb sky-ward. "Also, autumn equinox. And a fifteenth year."

Taylor drew himself up as tall as he could, which only made him resemble a constipated garden gnome. "I have no idea what…"

"Cut the crap, Taylor. Kirk, I know you're there."

Kirk slouched into view, head hanging.

Luke sighed heavily. "I'm not an idiot. My dad told me the deal. So did Uncle Louie. I get tradition and respecting the past but I can't let you do this, Taylor. Kirk already has night terrors."

"It's true, I do," confirmed Kirk a touch too enthusiastically.

"Now, Luke, you know I'll do _anything_ for this town!"

"Yeah, I do, but…" Luke helplessly gestured at the gazebo. "Enough's enough."

"You're going to argue with over two hundred years of success? On the square of the year?"

"Huh?" said Kirk and Luke in unison.

"Oh for ptiy's sake, it's 225 years since the founding!" snarled Taylor, advancing on Luke while shaking a slightly pudgy finger. "Fifteen years times fifteen is 225!"

"So fourteen times some poor shlub…"

"Thirteen, the first was an accident!" yipped Kirk, and sank down on the stairs of the gazebo.

"Died," concluded Luke, "to satisfy some Dark Ages superstitious crap! I'm telling you, no!"

"I'm telling you, yes!"

And then, because Kirk was not as stupid as Kirk often seemed, the confrontation was interrupted by his blurting, "Luke, you won't mind this one!"

" _What_?"

"I know you're married to Taylor's attorney and you won't have sons with me…"

Luke recoiled in confusion, looking quickly from Kirk to Taylor and back, in case an explanation appeared.

"But you know it's always someone who disrupts the town's, um…"

"Harmony," interjected Taylor, smiling a little as he shooed Luke away from the gazebo. "And you know what I think of motorcycles."

"What do… Who… Taylor…"

"Now, now, Luke, imagine Stars Hollow with no chance of ever seeing Christopher Hayden again."

Luke dropped out of Rant Stance. His mouth snapped shut, thinned, and turned down at the corners. "He's Rory's dad," he mumbled, convincing no one of anything other than genetic fact.

"Yes, and a splendid one he's been," drawled Taylor, patting the part of his coat that went _clank_. "Why don't you go home. We only need two. One, if we must, but it's better with two."

Luke absently muttered, "Dirty," because his mind, like his head, had turned in the general direction of the Gilmore home some blocks away.

"I can go home!" volunteered Kirk.

"Shut up, Kirk," said Taylor and Luke in the same breath.

"Go home," repeated Taylor softly to Luke. "You don't see anyone here but us, do you? Kirk? Me? Yourself? No sign of any 'poor shlub', correct?"

Unwilling to admit defeat, Luke had to concede that point, then plodded toward the diner.

"I thought he lived in Litchfield?"

Taylor hummed. "So he says. Now, help me with these boards, and be _quiet_."

Somehow, Kirk helped Taylor pry up the gazebo floor without creating more noise than a muffled yelp of pain when he stubbed a toe.

Under the gazebo was a yawning void, which might have been an old well. Snugly bound and wrapped kindly in a warm blanket, Christopher lay alongside the hole.

"Now, let me see," Taylor said quietly to himself as he opened his jacket to retrieve a pair of hammers and a very old book of some kind. "Pay attention, Kirk. This is how we keep up our town spirit!"

GG GG GG

AN: If you are not aware of the post-GG career of the actor who played Dean? He's been on a show called "Supernatural". He plays a demon hunter named Sam Winchester, whose brother's name is Dean; Bobby is a family friend. I own none of that, either. My borrowing is AU for both shows, naturally, and full credit to appropriate persons for all.


End file.
